AN: This is the penultimate chapter, just a warning. :) Thanks Margot11 for making me think more about Umbridge's perspective on Harry.

Dolores Umbridge started out having a good day. The house elves made her tea just how she liked it, and with four lumps of sugar it tasted perfect to her. The breakfast was to her taste as well, full of fluffy sweetness rather than boring foods like rashers and eggs. And she would think that after such an auspicious beginning to her day that things would continue so, but she was soon disabused of that notion.

She knew part of her good mood was that she was able to punish Harry Potter again last night, and that always made her happy. She had even gotten the added bonus of his dismay at having the girl who was with him punished as well, even though he begged for her to be let off or given what he termed a "standard detention." Umbridge had laughed at that, the boy had grown to fear her quill. When she had lost her chance at using the quill on him a few weeks ago it had somewhat disheartened her, but the boy had seemed so afraid of Snape it had made her feel like she had to let him go there. And, she reflected, watching the boy squirm while he was sitting for the next few days did much to mollify her and to raise her estimation of the Potions Master. The boy had even stood during his meals for that next day! Snape had obviously not gone easy on the boy by any means.

"Yous have a visitor," a house elf announced, popping in quickly.

"Who is it?" she asked, straightening the pencils on her desk.

"Theys Goyle Family," she said in her high, squeaky voice.

"I'm sure they just want to congratulate me on the progress of their son," she squeaked happily. "Show them in."

Mr. and Mrs. Goyle swept into her office solemnly. The headmistress couldn't remember their first names, and so was forced to think of them formally, even in her head. One look at their faces made her realize that they were not coming to congratulate her on their son's Defense grade.

"We have some grave concerns," Mrs. Goyle intoned as they sat themselves down.

"I am saddened to hear that," Umbridge answered. "What can I do for you?"

"We have come to find out that you have administered a punishment to one of our blood relatives that brings outrage to our family," Mrs. Goyle snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Your son Gregory has not been in any sort of trouble under my administration . . ."

"We are talking about my niece, Mandy Brocklehurst," Mr. Goyle interrupted in a dark, dangerous voice.

"Your niece?" she echoed. Had that been the brat that she had given the black quill to the night before with Potter? She had been so happy to catch him in mischief again that she hadn't paid much attention to his compatriot . . .

"Half-blood," Mr. Goyle admitted, waving his hand as if it was of no importance. "My younger sister married a muggle. Disinherited, of course, but that child is still a Goyle."

Headmistress Umbridge paled. She had not known that information when she had administered her punishment. She was very careful not to punish children who came from pureblood and powerful families that way.

"And what have you heard from your niece?" she asked, her voice sing-song.

"That you used a black quill on her," Mrs. Goyle answered, emotion bringing a northern accent to her tones. "And on Harry Potter as well in the detention."

"Don't bother with denial," Mr. Goyle sighed in a bored tone. "We've seen the marks, and to be honest we're not that upset. What's left is what you're going to do about it."

"Speak for yourself about upset!" Mrs. Goyle snapped.

"Whatever you say, dear," he drawled in a bored tone. "It's not like she's pureblood. And I'm sure that the Headmistress will do something about it."

"Do about it?"

"Don't you realize the damage control you're going to have to do about this?" Mrs. Goyle asked incredulously. "If you want to torture a few muggle borns or half-bloods, nobody is really going to care. But if that half-blood is a Goyle, then you are playing with fire."

"And using the black quill on Harry Potter?" Mr. Goyle sneered. "I mean, I hate him as much as the next guy, but that's bloody idiotic. Do you know what kind of press coverage he can command as the sodding boy who lived?"

"The Minister will be questioned," Mrs. Goyle nodded.

"He said I could use whatever means I needed to quiet the boy," Professor Umbridge blathered. "But he would deny it, of course, under official inquiry . . ."

"Then you need to get proof to protect yourself," Mr. Goyle told her smoothly. "Obviously you need to be protected from these charges. And they will come, mark my words."

"Thank you," she breathed to them. "I promise not to punish your niece again . . ."

"It's not that we care for her," Mr. Goyle waved his hand in an aristocratic manner. "She's a Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake. It's more the family name at sake, you understand."

"Of course, of course," she agreed.

"I'm glad we had this chat," Mrs. Goyle said, standing up, clearly still miffed. "We shall be in touch."

"But what should I do?" she asked them as they got up to leave.

"Resign?" Mrs. Goyle told her sarcastically.

Mr. Goyle rolled his eyes at his wife's rudeness and said, "Look, we understand. You've got a school to run, and some of the students are . . . ill-bred. But your choice of the black quill will look somewhat . . . medieval to some of the bleeding-hearted half-bloods. Unfortunately there's enough of them around that you must pander to them, at least somewhat. So you need to protect yourself."

"How do I do that?"

"By proving that your accusers are idiots, of course," he told her. "That they're making it up for the attention, that they are trying to frame you to get back at the ministry. Sort of what like you've been doing to that Potter brat all year."

"That has worked well," she agreed. "Nobody but the Gryffindors believes what he says."

"Then you know what you're doing," Mr. Goyle assured her. "Just more of the same, then. But steer clear of our niece from now on."

"Of course, of course," she assured him.

"And If you're ever confronted on it, surely the minister will lay blame on you," Mr. Goyle told her. "Be prepared for that."

Mr. and Mrs. Goyle swept out of the Headmaster's office, austerely glancing at passing students, and then walking determinedly into an empty classroom. Within seconds they were dressed in their normal clothes, and the Transfiguration and Potions masters exchanged looks.

"Polyjuice would have been more accurate," the Potions professor smirked.

"I believe my transfiguration skills were up to the task," McGonagall sniffed. "And we didn't try to have to get hairs from our subjects as well."

"Phase two," Snape smiled slyly. "I believe phase one to be successful. Even if nothing else goes as planned, our memories should be enough to get her the sack."

"Can he do it, Severus?" she asked him. "You are expecting a lot from such a young boy."

"He can do it," Snape affirmed. "I've rarely met someone braver."

. . .

Minister Fudge was not having a good day. His wife had made him eat oatmeal for breakfast, claiming that it was healthier for him, and hadn't even let him have a few rashers of bacon with it. He sighed. Sometimes even being the Minister of Magic did not mean you got respect in your own home, and instead got a bossy harpy for a wife who seemed bent on depriving him of bacon.

"Minister Fudge!" Minerva greeted him cordially as he stepped through the front gates of the school. "Although I must admit that I still see you as that sweet little boy who couldn't transfigure a matchstick."

"That was a long time ago," he blushed, trying to appear stern and competent."

"Of course! So good of you to come and celebrate with us. And I see you've brought some people with you?"

"Yes, of course," the Minister turned to introduce his entourage. "I believe you know Rita Skeeter, reporter for The Daily Prophet. And I also have my assistant Percy Weasley and Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Greetings," she nodded to each of them. "As deputy headmistress, I welcome you to Hogwarts. I understand you have a meeting with the headmistress."

"Yes," Fudge answered. "It is a chance to show my approval of the educational reforms that she has implemented in response to parental concerns. Miss Skeeter is here to record it for the public."

"This way," McGonagall ushered them. "I believe the Headmistress wishes to receive you in the great hall with the children present."

Fudge, nodding at the sense of ceremony, followed the deputy headmistress into the great hall.

"Welcome, Minister Fudge," Professor announced, her voice amplified with a sonorous spell. "We all are eager to hear your remarks on the educational reforms implemented here."

"Thank you, Headmistress," he nodded, casting the sonorous charm himself. "The ministry is always responsive to parental concerns, and we have undertaken the reform of Hogwarts curriculum and practices in order to respond to those concerns. Headmistress Umbridge has my full confidence in her ability to manage this school . . ."

"Your full confidence?" a voice asked from the corner.

"Who is that?" the minister asked, affronted by the voice. A mere student would interrupt his speech? This was worse than oatmeal for breakfast and Professor Mcgonagall reminiscing about teaching him transfiguration. Was nobody left that showed his office any respect?

"It's me," the voice replied. "Harry Potter."

All eyes fell on Harry as he stood up and faced the minister, his face pale but determined. He hated being the center of all the attention, but he knew the part he had to play.

"Of course he approves of everything!" Umbridge replied. "Harry Potter, you are a disobedient child! You have detention with me this evening!"

"Do you approve of her using the black quill on Hogwarts students, Minister?" Harry asked politely but firmly.

"Of course not!" the Minister thundered. "Those are vile things, only legal for a few purposes . . ."

"You indeed did approve!" Umbridge trilled. "I can provide pensieve memories of you approving its use, to use whatever means necessary to silence the brat . . ."

"Silence, woman!" the Minister yelled, his face purpling. "Do you not know how to hold your tongue?"

"They were right!" she shrieked. "You are trying to have me take the fall for everything!"

"Silence!" Kingsley Shacklebolt commanded, and everybody felt the push of his magic compelling them to be silent. Harry blinked, realizing why this man was the auror that was guarding the Minister of Magic.

"There seems to be an unruly student heckling the Minister of Magic," Shacklebolt intoned. "And I would know the nature of these accusations now, or the student needs to be taken away for school discipline."

"The Headmistress has been using the black quill on students," Harry spoke clearly. "This is Mandy Brocklehurst, she's a first year from Ravenclaw."

Shacklebolt walked over to Harry and the girl, his robes billowing majestically behind him. There was no question who was in charge. The minister looked pale and shaken, and Headmistress Umbridge looked desperate and waspish.

"He is a known liar!" the Headmistress accused. "He is trying to wrest control from the ministry, and will stoop to any level to smear me and my administration!"

Harry winced a bit at her words, but looked up into the auror's face. His commanding presence was belayed by his soft brown eyes, Harry could see kindness in them. Harry also knew that Arthur Weasley liked the man, and he felt a lot better about what he had to do.

"Who is the girl that was harmed?" he asked, his rich voice asked with his slight African accent.

Harry gestured to Mandy, and Shacklebolt took her hand, inspecting the damage done to it. "Why was this done?" he asked her, his voice soft.

"I, well I got in trouble yesterday," she told him. "The Headmistress gave me detention with her, and gave me this special quill of hers. It cut the words into my hand as I wrote, and it wrote with my blood."

"She's a liar!" the headmistress accused. "Surely one child with one complaint doesn't call into question all of the work I've done . . ."

"It's not just one child," Harry objected, his voice shaky. Everything in him screamed not to tell, not to let others know what had been done to him. But he knew this was the moment, this was what Snape had talked to him about. Glancing at the Potions professor and getting a slight nod of encouragement, Harry looked directly at Shacklebolt. "She's used it on me too."

"On you?" the auror's eyes popped open with surprise. "She used a black quill on Harry Potter?"

Harry held up his hand to show the auror. "This was the ninth time," he admitted.

Umbridge became beside herself with outrage. "How dare you!" she screeched at him. "Tell him right now that I did no such thing! Tell him that this is some stupid plan you made up!"

"I must not tell lies," Harry told her, looking firmly at her.

Chaos then erupted. The Minister vehemently denied any knowledge of the black quill, and Umbridge seemed set on trying to deny it had happened while at the same time saying that it was entirely approved by the minister. And of course this caused at first shock and then uproar among the students, even though the weren't sure what a black quill really was (well, not most of them anyway).

"ENOUGH!" Shacklebolt finally yelled, with that same magical silencing effect. "Madame Umbridge, you are now under arrest for assault of a student. Please surrender your wand . . ."

"I will do no such thing!" she shrieked, pulling her stubby wand and pointing it at the auror in fury.

Shacklebolt, an experienced auror who by no means had thought the pink headmistress would go quietly, had his wand out and cast a disarming spell before she even had the ability to think about what spell she might use on him. Her wand flew in a high arc over the students heads, crashing against the wall as Shacklebolt let fly a petrifying spell. Umbridge stiffened like a plank and then fell flat on her back on the ground. Harry watched in shock as the auror then looked back at Harry.

Placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, he said in his warm voice, "Well done, child." Harry, feeling shaken but proud, nodded in response. Then, Shacklebolt looked up and asked, "Who is going to take these two children to the infirmary?"

"My dear Miss Brocklehurst," Professor Flitwick appeared beside her. "Why didn't you tell me? You poor child, so brave. Come, Mr. Potter, you should come too. Nine times? You should have told me, child, I would never have let that happen. Poor children, she probably told you that nobody would care. That horrible beast! Now let's get you fixed up."

"Surely there are no need for these dramatics," the Minister hedged. "Really, Auror Shacklebolt, to petrify her . . ."

"She has used an evil artifact on at least two students," Shacklebolt told him, his eyes levelling. "And one of those students was Harry Potter. Then she actually drew her wand on the auror who was protecting the Minister of Magic. She'll go to Azkaban for sure, and you should be worried about your own position, Minister. I would hate for you to be implicated in such a scandal."

Fudge paled, but nodded. He knew that the least said the better, but he found himself turning towards the students. "I want you all to know that we at the ministry take your education and safety very seriously," he said. "this matter will be looked into." And with that, Shacklebolt ushered them all out of the room. Rita Skeeter, who had been writing furiously and snapping photographs the entire time, protested at his insistence, but was able to be pushed out the door.

Blushing, Harry realized that what he admitted was not only to an entire room of people but would likely be in the paper as well. He sought out the sight of his Potions professor again, and Snape nodded at him again in reassurance. Harry could tell he was pleased. Harry smiled back, and then let Professor Flitwick, who was still fussing over them, usher them to the infirmary.